


Science Bros - The First Generation

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Complete, bucky barnes is a nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bunker in London, Howard Stark had unexpected company to work with him in the lab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November 1943

**Author's Note:**

> This all came out of the fact that the thing Bucky chooses to do on his last night of freedom is go to a Science Fair. King Dork :)

Howard Stark wasn't exactly an early bird or a night owl. He was whatever it was that worked until he fell asleep at his work station, and woke up with the pattern of cogs and wires embossed in his face. 

He was always the last to leave the lab in the bunker, and the first to get there in the morning, a mug of black coffee gripped in his hand. One of the benefits of being rich and useful was that they never denied him his coffee. 

Four days had gone by since they returned from Italy, and he’d barely even scratched the surface of the new tech that Rogers had brought back with him. He’d been blown on his ass, shorted out half the lights in the room, melted the lenses of his microscope, and every new thing he was learning was getting him more excited about the possibilities.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, yawning, and stopped short.

The lights were already on.

A man halfway dressed in uniform was standing at one of the workbenches, looking at the blueprints for the enhancements for the motorcycle Howard was working on. One of the American soldiers, Howard guessed, but without the jacket, it was hard to tell. 

"Hey, buddy," Howard said, hurrying towards him. "You're not meant to be in here."

The man turned, looking over his shoulder, then pivoted on his heel to face Howard. He sat back against the edge of the workbench, his arms folded over his chest. "We need to have some words, pal."

There was something in the way he said it that reminded Howard of the less gifted people in his class at High School. But he wasn't in High School anymore, and no dumb jock was going to intimidate him in his own lab. 

"Right now, I'm kind of busy," he said, walking over to the table.

The man stuck out his arm, his hand slamming against Howard's chest, stopping Howard dead in his tracks. "Right now, you're gonna make time," he said coolly. "You were one of the people who gave Rogers his upgrade. Is this a flying-car kinda upgrade?"

Howard stepped back from the man's hand. "I don't follow."

"We were in New York," the man said curtly, bracing his hands against the edge of the workbench. "We saw your car. You upgraded that too."

Howard met the man's eyes. We were in New York. There was only one other person who that could be. Rogers' friend. The one he'd rescued from HYDRA. According the rumours, the poor bastard had been tortured almost past the point of endurance. 

"The serum wasn't my work," he said. "Erskine was responsible for that, and he was a goddamned genius." 

That didn't seem to please Barnes any. "He said it hurt."

That, Howard knew he couldn't deny. He still remembered Rogers screaming. "Yeah," he said. "But he wouldn't let us stop."

Barnes blew out a noisy breath. "No," he said, shaking his head. "The dumb little punk wouldn't."

The man looked exhausted, but less hostile now. Howard set down the files he was carrying on the table beside him.

"Has he always been so..." he began.

"Reckless? Stupid? Like a goddamned lemming?"

Howard winced. "I was going to say brave. Daring."

"Daring," Barnes said, snorting. "That's hero-speak for doing the right thing, no matter how dumb it is. In that case, yeah." He ran a hand over his face, then looked at Howard. "This serum, it'll keep him healthy, right? No more asthma? Rheumatic fever?"

"No more illness," Howard said, “Ever, as far as we know.”

Barnes looked up at the ceiling, breathing deep. “Jesus,” he said, so softly it could almost have been a prayer. His eyes came back to Howard. “And it’s permanent, right? You’re not gonna force him back to the way he was, not now he can breathe?”

“I don’t think it’s even an option,” Howard admitted.

Barnes pushed off from the workbench, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “Good,” he said. “It’s good. He deserves that.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “The car was pretty neat. Right until it blew up.”

Howard couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah,” he said, “that was a bit of an embarrassment.”

Barnes jerked his head towards the blueprints of the motorcycle. “You going to do the same to that?”

Howard glanced at the outlines and shook his head. “Rogers just asked for a bike, so we’re keeping it simple,” he said. “He didn’t say what he wanted for…” He trailed off at the pained look on Barnes’s face. “What?”

“Of course he wanted a goddamn bike,” Barnes said with a sigh. “Couldn’t just start small, could he?” He turned back around to the table, smoothing out the plans. “These are flame-canisters, right?” Howard looked at him in surprise and for a moment, Barnes almost looked like he might smile. “What? You think some green sergeant from Brooklyn hasn’t been keeping his eyes open?”

“You’ve been around engines?”

The smile vanished, replaced by something darker. “I worked in Schmidt’s factory for a month,” he said. “Before that, back home, tried my hand at everything: dockyards, garages, you name it.” He tapped the body of the engine. “You’re going to need to give him somewhere to keep his guns close to hand. Knowing Steve, he’ll want to have everything he can possibly carry.”

“You heard about the shield?”

Barnes gave him a look. “You gave him a tin plate and he thinks he’s invincible.”

“I don’t think ‘gave’ is the right word,” Howard said with a snort. “He wanted it, and when he decides he’s going to do something, I don’t think there’s a man alive who could stop him.”

Barnes’ expression softened, one side of his mouth turning up at the side. “You got that right,” he said, looking back down at the plans for the bike. “So what do you have that we could use to make holsters?”


	2. January 1944

It was barely past five o'clock in the morning. The lab should have been empty. Everyone was meant to be taking a couple of days to recover from the last mission. Even the techs had been given a chance to lie in.

Howard, though, was a creature of habit, and sometimes, it was better to have the lab to himself, to get on with working through problems that people kept distracting him from.

He pushed the door open with one hand, the other carrying his regular cup of coffee. He wasn't entirely surprised to find that some of the lights were already on. More often than not, there was one person who regularly slept as badly as Howard did, but for other reasons.

Rogers' bike was illuminated, and he could see the shock of dark hair above the chassis. Barnes was working on it again.

Whenever Rogers was occupied - and he was, a lot, with briefings and meetings and all the stuff the higher ups did - Barnes would show up in the lab. Usually, he worked on Rogers' gear, but sometimes, Howard found him tinkering with some of the latest developments. He had a good eye, and was one of the only people who came into the lab with the balls to tell him a shield with a machine gun looked as dumb as hell. 

Howard approached, walking around the bike. "Need a hand?"

Barnes didn't look up, a grimace on his face. He was prying loose a plate that looked like it had been melted and warped out of shape. "How are you with industrial strength straight-jackets?" he asked, turning the plate over in his hand. "Because I think we need one."

Howard crouched down, taking the plate from him and turning it over. He whistled between his teeth. "What did he do?"

"Blew the place while he was still inside," Barnes said. "I swear he's trying to give me a heart attack." He tapped his screwdriver against the gas canister, which had ruptured. The metal folded out like a flower. "He was just lucky this was running on empty."

Howard went around the other side of the bike, checking the plating around the engine and the fuel tanks. The metal was charred all over, and he sighed, making a mental note to get another set of uniforms run off for the Captain. 

"I'll look into some sturdier alloys," he said to Barnes. 

Barnes nodded in agreement. "Something that won't blow up in his face," he said. "You don't have anymore of that metal, do you? The vibranium?"

Howard shook his head. "He's got all of it already."

Barnes ran a hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of soot and oil. "So," he said, "the straight-jacket. Or a big net. I'm open to ideas."

Howard straightened up from his side of the bike and went over to the workbench. There was a cup half-full of water. He tipped the contents into the basin by the wall, then poured half his coffee into it, and carried it back to Barnes.

"The more I see of Captain Rogers," he said, as Barnes took the cup, "the more I think he would get out of any situation by sheer force of righteous indignation."

Barnes sat back on his heels. "You wouldn't be wrong." He wrapped both his hands around the cup as he studied the bike. "He's been making noises about mounting guns on it." 

"Isn't he..."

"Already carrying six?" Barnes nodded. "The more the better, he figures." He took a mouthful of the coffee and made a sound of surprise. "How'd'you get the good..." He paused, then shook his head. "Dumb question. Best part of rolling in it, am I right?"

"It has its moments," Howard agreed.

Barnes knelt back up, then pushed himself to his feet, leaving a handprint on the leather of the bike's seat. "Got something for you, out there," he said, stepping down from the plinth and rooting around in a stained knapsack. "Steve told us to watch out for useful stuff." He withdrew a block of metal from the bag and turned it over between his fingers. "Don't know if this is, but they had it hooked up in a machine. Looked like it's some kind of superconductive mineral. Or something."

Howard set down his cup. "Let me see that," he said, crossing the floor and taking the metal from Barnes' hand carefully. 

"They had them in Schmidt's factory," Barnes said, his voice quieter.

Howard looked up from the metal. "Things like this?"

Barnes nodded tersely. "Didn't ask," he said, "but there were a few of them. Looked like they were conducting the energy Zola was working with."

Howard looked back down at the cool metal block in his hand. For weeks, they'd been struggling to figure out how Zola had been stabilising the power from the tesseract, when it should have - by all the laws of every kind of science - shorted out through everything. No metal they had tried worked. Copper melted like butter in the sun. Steel boiled. 

"I think you just solved the problem we've been fighting with for weeks, Barnes," he said, his voice shaking with excitement. He ran across the lab to the booth where they'd been storing the device Rogers stole back in November. "I don't think anyone else would have realised what they were looking at."

Barnes followed him, looking over his shoulder into the booth. "Don't tell the guys," he said. "Can't have them thinking I'm a brain."

Howard shook his head, turning his attention back to the metal. Even if he told them, he knew they probably wouldn't believe him. Bucky Barnes might have wandered into the lab a lot, but the Howling Commandos seemed to think it was because he liked playing with the new weapons. Truth was Barnes was a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

"You think you could hook it up the way they did?" Howard asked.

Barnes snorted, plucking the metal from his fingers. "Please," he said. "Is the Pope Catholic?"


	3. 5th July 1944

5th July 1944

 

For once, Howard had a pot of coffee with him and two mugs.

It was the crack of dawn and his head was pounding, but he was awake and there was no point in lying in bed dreaming of beautiful women when there were beautiful engines waiting for his attention. Hell, with the engines, at least he knew how they ticked. 

The night before had been a celebration: the Captain's birthday, independence day, and every one of Rogers' crew coming back from a mission with only one of them injured. Dernier had taken a bullet in the shoulder, but brushed it off to take out a HYDRA gun tower.

Even with the rationing, Howard managed to speak softly to the right people and ensure it was a proper party. After all, it was the Captain's first birthday as the Captain, and if the top brass weren't going to make a big deal of it, someone had to.

It wasn't quite the fireworks and parties they would have had back home, but it looked like everyone enjoyed it. He'd even seen Carter smiling quietly over a small sherry as the men sang and roared their approval for their Captain.

Of course, his head was now paying the price. The dull ache had settled right behind his eyes and felt like it was boring right through to the base of his skull.

But, as usual, he wasn't the only one up with the birds.

The lab door was ajar and he could hear the rasp of metal on metal as he approached.

He pushed it open with his shoulder.

"Stark," Barnes said without looking up. He was sitting on the edge of a workbench, working a file along the inside of a piece of steel piping.

"Barnes," Howard acknowledged. He set down the coffee pot and the mugs. "Something new?"

Barnes made a noncommittal sound, lifting the pipe and peering through it. "His trip-wires jammed last time," he said. "Can't clothesline them properly if the propulsion can't eject smoothly on both sides."

Judging by the dust stains on Barnes’ pants, he’d been working for a while already. Howard poured the coffee and pushed the mug towards him.

“You need an aspirin?” he asked. “Because I sure as hell do.”

“I’m good,” Barnes replied, returning to his work.

That made Howard look at him suspiciously. “Are you serious? You put away more than half a bottle of Scotch last night.”

Barnes shrugged. “Guess I can handle my booze,” he said, then looked up, one side of his mouth curving up. “Unlike some people.”

Howard snorted, then winced. “Ha ha, funny man,” he said. He went over to his cabinet and fished out a packet of aspirin, knocking back two with a mouthful of scalding coffee. “Rogers sleeping off his party?”

Barnes snorted. “He tried to sneak out without waking me. He likes to go for a walk topside when there’s no one around, so he doesn’t get swarmed by dames trying to catch themselves a Yank.”

“Oh no,” Howard said dryly, “the horror. Swarmed by women. Every guy’s worst nightmare.”

He heard Barnes chuckle quietly. It was a rare sound. The man was always so serious, intent on doing everything he could to ensure the safety of Rogers and the rest of the team Rogers had put together. When he did laugh, it felt like some kind of little victory.

“He wouldn’t know what to do with a dame without an instruction manual,” he said. “He never had to deal with it before.”

Howard wrapped one hand around his coffee mug. “Yeah,” he said, “he wasn’t exactly anything before the serum, was he?”

Barnes’ eyes flicked up to his face. “He was everything he is now,” he said. He sounded calm, but there was fire in his eyes, and Stark had the feeling he’d just done something as offensive as insulting Barnes’ sainted mother. “You just changed the case a little.”

“A little?” Howard said. “Have you seen his chest? My god, that thing is a work of art.”

Barnes picked up his coffee mug, looking at Howard thoughtfully. “I think I got it wrong,” he said. “Steve went out early to stop being swarmed by science brains who want to ogle him.” His mouth tweaked up again. “Work of art, huh? I’m gonna have to tell him that.”

Howard winced. “He might… already know,” he said.

“Unless you scrubbed your laundry on that washboard…” Barnes’ eyes widened as Howard very deliberately turned away, heat rising up the back of his neck. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You felt up Captain America? Am I gonna have to punch you out for disgracing him?”

“In my defence,” Howard said indignantly, “he’d just popped out of the box and needed someone to help him stand up.”

“And cop a feel, huh?”

Howard turned to glare at Barnes, and was greeted by the most amused smirk he had ever seen on the man’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a jackass?” Howard said grumpily.

“Once or twice,” Barnes replied. “So how did you like those rippling muscles, Stark? Did they do it for you? Did they make you swoon like a dame?”

“Anything I say now is going right back to Rogers, isn’t it?”

Barnes raised his mug in a toast. “It sure is,” he said, “so make it good.”

Howard raised a finger and jabbed it towards him. “I should kick you out of my lab.”

Barnes snickered. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but I know your dirty secret now. I bet you even draw love hearts around his name in your records.”

Howard, who had made the mistake of taking a drink, choked on his coffee and Barnes just smirked some more. 

“You’re a goddamned jerk,” Howard complained loudly, mopping at his shirt with a handkerchief.

“Yes,” Barnes said amiably. “Yes, I am.”


	4. October 1944

It had been four days since the Captain had returned from his last mission.

Barnes hadn’t shown up in the lab once in all that time, and that surprised Howard. He’d got used to having a Brooklyn smart mouth giving him lip whenever the Howling Commandoes were in the city. From the reports, he knew Barnes wasn’t injured, so he figured the guy just needed a break.

All the same, when Rogers showed up to check on the progress of the latest enhancements on his bike, Howard had to ask.

“I don’t want to make a big deal of it,” he said, wiping grease off his hands with a cloth, “but he’s the guy who put in the most hours on your bike. He knows it better than anyone, and I figured he’d want to look over the upgrades.”

Rogers ran his hand along the handlebar, a distant look on his face. “Maybe not right now, Stark,” he said. He glanced up from the bike, a warning look in his eyes. “It’s not a good time for him. This time last year…”

He trailed off, but he didn’t really have to say more.

This time last year, the man was beaten unconscious by HYDRA agents and dragged into a lab to be experimented on like an animal. No wonder he didn’t want to be stuck in another lab, surrounded by scientists.

Stark shivered at the thought. He looked back down at the bike. “He’s okay, right?”

“He’s Bucky,” Rogers replied. He continued his inspection of his newest weapons, but as he was leaving, he caught Howard’s shoulder and leaned closer to say quietly, “You might wanna try the roof after dark.”

Howard didn’t say anything, just nodded.

A few hours later, he headed for the roof with a pot of coffee - with a generous shot of whisky because the nights were getting cold - and two mugs. Barnes was right where Rogers said he would be. He was sitting on the edge of the parapet, his back to one of the higher sections of the wall, a cigarette glowing between his fingertips.

“Great view, isn’t it?” Howard offered.

Barnes glanced towards him, then looked away, blowing a plume of smoke out between his lips. “Yeah,” he finally said. “It’s something.” He looked at the tip of his cigarette, flicking some ash loose. “What do you want, Stark?”

Howard approached the parapet and let the mugs do the talking. They clinked down on the stonework, and he poured a generous measure of steaming coffee into each of them, then pushed one of them along towards Barnes.

For a moment, he thought Barnes might tell him where to go, then the man leaned forward and picked up the cup in his empty hand, curling his fingers around it.

“Figured you’d miss that more than you’d miss a bunch of brains acting like you were a blockhead,” Howard said lightly, sitting down on the edge of the parapet. 

Barnes snorted quietly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I just come for the coffee.”

They both knew that was bullshit, but Howard didn’t want to push.

“Rogers came in earlier,” he said, wrapping both his hands around his own mug. “I swear to god that man gets himself blown up just so we have to make him new toys.”

Barnes was looking back out over the city and took another drag on his cigarette. “It’s who he is now,” he said distantly. “Captain America. Got to be the best he can be. Best guns. Best bikes. Best weapons. Best men.”

“Well, weapons and bikes I can give him,” Howard said. “Men? He chose those himself. You can’t blame me for them.”

Barnes shot him a wry look. “Thanks, Stark. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” He flicked the stub of his cigarette out over the edge of the roof. It fell like a tiny comet into the dark street below. 

Howard wasn’t good at people. He could play the showman, entertain, distract, flirt, but just talking to a guy who had been screwed over by bad guys? How the hell did you do that?

“You got a life?” he finally asked. “Back in the world? Before all…” He waved vaguely to the city around them.

Barnes was looking into his coffee cup. “I watched his back,” he murmured. “Did what jobs I could, paid my way, and watched his back.” His eyes flicked up to Howard’s. “I know it don’t sound like much, but no one had much back there.”

Howard knew he couldn’t understand that. He’d always had money and comfort and could do whatever he wanted. 

He set down his cup on the lip of the balustrade beside him.

“You ever had something you wanted to do? Like school or something?”

Barnes gave him a tired, amused look. “What is this? Confessions of a soldier?”

“I’m just curious is all,” Howard said indignantly. “You’re a damned good engineer, Barnes. I just figured you might want to do something with it.” He shrugged. “I’m always looking for good people, and if you wanted to…”

Barnes was staring at him. “Are you offering me a job, Stark?”

“I’m saying if you want one,” Howard replied, “there could be an opening made. You’re not an idiot, and the war isn’t going to last forever.” He looked over at the other man. “I know you watch Rogers’ back, but when there’s no one left to fight…”

Barnes was watching him, a pensive look in his eyes. “You don’t know Steve,” he said with a resigned smile. “There’s always someone left to fight.” He swung his leg down from the parapet. “But if you’re serious, if this isn’t just a pity thing, maybe, yeah.”

“Do I seem the kind of person who would give a man a job out of pity?” Howard said. “My god, it’s like you think I have a soul or something.” He shook his head. “I need people who are good at what they do. That’s why I’m asking.”

Banres smiled. It was small and it was tired, but it was still a smile. “Then, Mr Stark, you have yourself a new engineer,” he said, holding out a hand.

His palm was warm from cradling the mug, and Stark shook it firmly.

“I’ll hold you to that, buddy,” he said, “and if I hear you’ve ended up working with my rivals, we’re going to have words.”

Barnes chuckled. “Would those words be ‘I have better coffee’?”

Howard reached for the pot between them, holding it out. “It’s like you read my mind.”


	5. February 1945

Something had gone wrong in the mission.

No one was saying what it was. They never did over the radio, in case unfriendly ears were listening, but something had gone wrong. The bunker was never a calm place, but now, there was a tension in the air, everyone waiting to find out how bad things were.

They’d gone after Armin Zola. The scientist was the one who knew what the Red Skull was up to, and he was one of the only people who could point them in the right direction. Howard’s best guess was that he’d either got away or been killed. 

For once, Phillips ordered everyone to stations, instead of greeting Cap and the team at the door. Howard moved to remain, but Phillips shook his head once, and Stark knew this was more than a failed capture mission. It meant something much more terminal.

He retreated down to the lab, sitting down on the edge of the pedestal that was occupied by Rogers’ bike. He hadn’t needed it for the Alps, not when they’d taken grapple guns and cables for descending over railway lines. 

Phillips would have told them if Rogers was dead. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Captain America was the biggest morale boost any of them could have hoped for. No. If he was dead, Howard knew Phillips would keep it quiet until he found some way to make it a martyr’s death, something to make people fight even harder. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t often that Phillips kept them in the dark.

Two hours later, Colonel Phillips came into the lab.

Howard was keeping his hands busy, tinkering with a device he hoped could be adapted to fire miniature rockets from a wrist-guard. It wasn’t going well. His shirt sleeve was already singed along one side.

“Stark,” Phillips said.

He looked up, then set down his tools at the look on the man’s face. “Is it Rogers?” he said, and he knew every other person in the lab was listening too. 

Phillips shook his head. “Captain Rogers returned and debriefed. The mission objective was achieved,” he said. “We have Zola.” 

There was a flurry of nervous excitement around the room, but Howard’s eyes stayed fixed on Phillips. “But?”

“We lost a man. One of the Commandoes. Carter said he’d been spending time in here.”

Howard stared at him. “Barnes?” he said blankly. 

Phillips nodded. “The train was a weapons convoy,” he said. “They were armed with Zola’s new weapons. We’ve requisitioned the remainder and they will be delivered here as soon as possible.” He was silent for a moment, then said finally, “We’re going to have a moment for the man in the mess in half an hour. Captain Rogers would appreciate full attendance.”

Howard nodded numbly. “We’ll be there,” he said. 

He waited until Phillips withdrew before sitting down on the edge of the workbench. The last time he’d seen Barnes, three days earlier, the man was quiet. He knew he was going after Zola. He knew Zola was the man who had used him as a lab rat.

Howard had tried to cheer him up, by telling him he could at least punch the guy out.

Looked like he didn’t even get to do that.

They headed up to the mess hall half an hour later. 

Captain Rogers was in full uniform. He didn’t say a word and barely moved. He might as well have been carved from stone, his hands balled into fists by his side, as Colonel Phillips said a few words about Barnes.

Phillips finished speaking and looked to the Captain.

Rogers looked down blankly, then lifted his eyes, but he was looking somewhere beyond the room. “He was a good man.” His words were clipped as if every one of them had to be forced out. “A good friend.”

“Sergeant Barnes!” One of the Commandoes spoke, but Howard didn’t notice which one. The rest echoed the name, and it rippled around the room.

He slipped away as soon as he could. It felt too morose to stay.

In silence, he climbed up to the roof instead. 

Once in a while, he and Barnes had met up there, to have a drink and a cigarette and to criticise the latest anti-aircraft weapons. It was a quiet place.

He went to the section of the parapet where they’d sat a dozen times, and took a flask out of his jacket pocket, looking at it. They’d lost people before. They’d lose people again. It was war. It happened. But it didn’t make it any easier.

He flipped the cap open and took a mouthful of the bourbon.

That was when the sirens started wailing. 

An air raid.

Howard looked up at the sky, and his eyes were burning as he laughed. “This your idea of a grand farewell, you jackass?” he called up at the stars. “You want to make me watch the guns one last time?”

There was no reply, only the sound of planes far overhead and gunfire from below.

Howard raised the flask to the sky. “Here’s to you, Barnes,” he said. “Enjoy the peace."


	6. Epilogue - 17th December 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know MCU canon, and you read the chapter title, I suspect you know what's coming.

Howard had always been a good driver.

Pilot too.

Engines and machines spoke to him. He could feel them when he drove, and knew how to compensate to maintain velocity and traction. He knew just how much to press his foot to the accelerator. He knew just when to pull back.

He knew it all.

He didn’t know why he’d lost control. 

Sure, there was ice, but he knew how to deal with it, like he had a hundred times before. 

It was like everything had just gone blank. The brakes didn’t lock when they should have, and the car shuddered. Someone must have tampered with the engine and done it so well he didn't notice until it was too late. And it was too late. Maria screamed as they spun. It sounded like it was a thousand miles away. He wanted to turn, to apologise, but it was happening too fast.

The curve of the road was too sharp and they crashed through the barrier. The glass of the windscreen shattered, and all he could do was cling onto the steering wheel and pray to god that it was either a quick death or a soft landing.

It was neither.

He tried to keep count of how many times they rolled. Distance. Proximity. A sign he was still alive and conscious. Tried. The car screamed around him. Or maybe it was Maria, still. Or maybe it was him. He couldn’t tell.

There were rocks and branches and finally stillness.

Howard tried to turn his head, tried to look around. Alive. Yes. Blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. Hard to breathe. “Maria?”

Silence.

His head fell back against the headrest. Couldn’t even tell which angle. Not a good one. Couldn’t feel his legs. His arms. Not good.

A sound. Close.

Howard forced his head to move. Window beside him. Crumpled down. Shattered. 

“Help,” he whispered. “Help us.”

A flash light. A face.

Howard squinted, then stared. 

Familiar. A dead man. Long dead. A memory of engines. Coffee. London rooftops.

“Barnes?” Howard whispered.

The flashlight went out.

Everything was quiet.


End file.
